


Desperately Seeking Turnbull

by china_shop



Category: due South
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-22
Updated: 2005-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, Fraser's working in a hardware store in one of the less interesting parts of Chicago / A summary of the movie, Desperately Seeking Susan, as seen through the lens of the DSverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperately Seeking Turnbull

**Author's Note:**

> As requested by heuradys and mergatrude. The voices are a little wonky, because a) I've taken some of the dialogue as directly from the film as my shoddy memory will allow, and b) I'm hearing half-Roberta/half-Fraser and half-Dez/half-Ray in my head, which yeah, is not a little disconcerting. :-)

So, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, Fraser's ~~a lonely unfulfilled housewife in the 'burbs~~ working in a hardware store in one of the less interesting parts of Chicago, dreaming of a life more glamorous.

He's also a CB radio enthusiast (just go with it). From time to time, he overhears the occasional message from Vecchio (codename: Stallion) to Turnbull (codename: Penguin) and vice versa, and he speculates about them, about their crime-fighting exploits. It's fairly obvious from the communiqués that they're cops.

One day Fraser overhears them arranging a rendezvous, and he decides to go along, to see them for himself. He wants a window onto their world. So he goes to the meeting place -- an abandoned warehouse -- and hides behind an empty grain silo. He watches as they meet and exchange important information. Turnbull's wearing a formal red uniform. Vecchio's in Armani. They greet each other with a cheerful casualness, and their talk is so littered with jargon, it's almost code.

This is pretty exciting for a clean-living boy from the 'burbs. Vecchio gets a call on his cellphone and has to leave, and Turnbull heads off in the other direction. Hardly knowing why, Fraser follows him. Turnbull strolls confidently through Chicago's seedy underbelly, until he comes to a club. Lots of freakishly dressed folk going in and coming out. Big scary bouncer on the door. Turnbull ducks back around the corner and takes off his hat. Then he strips off his uniform, revealing leather trousers and a mesh vest underneath. He rolls up the uniform and leaves it hidden in a cardboard box in the alley, then enters the club.

Fascinated, Fraser waits until he's gone, and then goes to the box and pulls out the uniform. It glows orangey-red under the sodium lights. It's his destiny. He can't resist: he tries it on.

It fits perfectly. He feels taller, more important, purposeful. It's like he's a whole 'nother person. He settles the hat on his head and wishes that Turnbull had left the boots. He'd like to have tried the boots too.

He's just about to reluctantly change back into his own clothes when there's a scuffle at the far end of the alley, shouts and gunfire, and Fraser runs off.

He gets home, exhilarated and breathless, and when he sees himself in the mirror, he thinks he looks more himself than he's ever been before. The uniform is like a missing piece of his personal jigsaw puzzle. He's about to disrobe and shower when he notices something tucked into band inside the hat. He pulls it out and examines it: a microchip. It must be important for something, it must contain crucial crime-fighting information. Finally Fraser is going to get to be part of the action.

He broadcasts a message on the CB (codename: Caribou) stating a time and place to meet with Turnbull and return his possessions.

*

On the other side of town, Vecchio receives the broadcast. "Caribou? What caribou?" he mutters to himself. He's worried about Turnbull's safety, but then the phone rings, and it's the feds.

"We need you in Vegas. No time to argue," they say, and they whisk him out of town before he even has time to pack a bag. He's allowed one call, and he phones Welsh and tells him about the caribou message. "Keep an eye on Turnbull for me, would you?"

Welsh calls his old friend Ray Kowalski. "Hey, we need a stand-in for Vecchio. And also? There's this thing with a caribou."

"Hey, I'm in a shitty mood," says Ray. "Stella split on me last night. I am not in the mood to play boy scout, okay?"

But Welsh talks him into it.

"Okay, fine. So how will I know this Turnbull guy?"

"You'll know him: imagine a fire engine with a hat."

*

Fraser turns up in the Mountie uniform (he knows he should give it back, but there's something about it; he can't resist the chance to wear it one last time). He's standing around waiting for Turnbull when a guy starts hassling him. "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so. I rarely forget a face."

"Didn't I see you in Atlantic City?"

"I've never been to Atlantic City. I'm from Tuktoyaktuk."

"Are you sure. Because you seem very familiar." The stranger is vaguely threatening, and he won't let up.

At the same time, Turnbull's trying to get through the crowd to meet up with Fraser, but he's still wearing his mesh shirt and leather trousers, and he's accosted by homophobes and ends up in a fight. The police break it up, and arrest everyone involved. Turnbull can't identify himself or he'll risk blowing his cover and ruining his chances of catching the mobsters he's after.

And at the same time, from another direction, comes Kowalski in a crappy police car. He ignores the fight -- the black and whites are taking care of it -- and spots a Mountie uniform in the crowd ahead. Aha! That must be Turnbull. But hey, some sleazeball is hassling him. Kowalski guns the engine and runs up onto the pavement, then leaps out of the car and throws himself at the two of them, yelling, "Chicago PD! Leave the Mountie alone!"

He knocks them both to the ground. The Mountie hits his head on the metal arm of a park bench with a resounding clang. The sleazeball runs off.

After a few moments, the Mountie sits up, blinking and dazed.

Ray crouches down beside him. "Turnbull. You are Turnbull, right?"

"Turnbull?"

"Good. Welsh sent me. Wanted to make sure you're okay. You are okay, aren't you?"

"I'm okay."

"Okay. Who was that guy?"

"Guy?"

"That guy who was hassling you."

The Mountie shakes his head, bewildered. "I don't know."

"You don't know." Ray hauls him to his feet, noticing that the guy's shoes do not match his uniform. "But you are Turnbull?"

"I don't know."

"Police liaison from the Canadian embassy? You were coming here to meet Caribou?"

"A caribou?"

"Let me guess. You don't know. Do you remember what you had for breakfast this morning?"

"I don't know. This is like deja-vu."

"How can you have deja-vu if you don't remember anything?"

"No, this is all deja-vu. When I close my eyes, I see a hat."

"A hat, like on your head?"

The Mountie lifts his hands and feels the brim of his Stetson. "Oh," he says, disappointed. "Yeah, that must be it."

Ray figures out the Mountie has concussion, but when he offers to take him to a doctor, Turnbull says no. "I got to get back," says Ray. "You'll be okay?"

The Mountie nods, looking vacant as a two-bit motel in off-season.

Ray sighs. They check the Mountie's pockets, finding a phone number printed on a piece of blank card.

"Okay," says Ray. "This is good. This is Vecchio's--my private number. Vecchio--I must have given it to you."

The Mountie nods again. At a loss, Ray says, "Okay, listen. You can stay at my place, on one condition. Welsh told me all about you, Turnbull. I know you work vice, and I know your lines get a little blurry sometimes. Good guy, bad guy, somewhere-in-the-middle guy. Me, I don't want any dramas. I don't want any trouble. No drugs and no 'dates', you got that?"

"Dates?" Turnbull seems confused by the concept.

"You heard me." Ray hustles him into the car and takes him home to get cleaned up. He has to feed his damned turtle, anyway.

When they get to his place, the apartment's been stripped nearly bare: Stella's back with her fancy new boyfriend and is taking all Ray's stuff. "I'll send you a cheque," she says, and follows Orsini down the stairs.

Ray groans. Could his day get any worse? "You want a drink?"

"Sure. Juice or milk. Either."

"Molson or Miller?"

"Oh. Uh, either one."

Ray goes into the kitchen, looks around and slams his hand against the wall. "Jesus fucking Christ, I don't believe it."

"What?" says Turnbull, coming up behind him.

Ray's uncomfortably aware of the guy standing so close. He steps forward, gesturing at the empty space by the window. "She took the refrigerator."

They sit on the roof and drink vodka from the bottle and eat Chinese food. Turnbull gets drunk and loose, speculating about his own forgotten past, and flirting a little. Ray's captivated, even though he knows it's a mistake to go there. The guy's a notorious flake, after all. Hardly what Ray needs when he's just been dumped.

*

 _[Oh, god. This is really long already and I'm only about a third of the way through the film. *moves into summary mode*]_

Okay, so Fraser spends the next day using the clues tucked away in Turnbull's hat to try and figure out who he is.

Meanwhile, Turnbull's released from the holding cell, and trying to track down Fraser and the microchip (because many vice cases involve microchips, okay?).

Meanwhile, Ray's falling in love with Fraser (aka Turnbull).

Fraser's attacked by some bad guys and hits his head again, regaining his memory, but when he tries to tell Ray who he really is, Ray thinks it's just another undercover identity. "That is what I like about you, Turnbull," he says, moving in, mesmerized by Fraser's blue eyes. "You keep me on my toes. I never know what you're going to say next."

 ~~Fraser's distracted from his truth-telling by the warm brush of Ray's lips against his, andthentheyhavesex.~~ Fraser's distracted from his truth-telling by the warm sweet brush of Ray's lips against his. He flushes with desire: perhaps he isn't Turnbull, but maybe he doesn't have to be the old boring Fraser either. Recklessly, feeling his life and heart expand at the possibilities before him, he opens his mouth to taste Ray, and reaches up to draw him closer. They're both crouched on the floor and, at Fraser's gentle tug, they go sprawling back, half onto the mattress behind them. Their bodies collide, firm dizzying pressure from chest to knee that makes Fraser gasp. Dear God.

Ray moans and rolls them onto their sides, so he can stroke his hand down Fraser's back and then up, under his Mountie tunic, against his bare skin. And _then_ theyhadsex.

_(Sex scene expanded at 's request.)_

The next morning Vecchio turns up at Ray's apartment ("The Vegas thing fell through -- I'm looking for Turnbull.") and Fraser escapes through the kitchen window, needing to get his head sorted out before he can face Ray again.

Turnbull sends out a CB message. Fraser hears it, and so do Vecchio and Kowalski and all the bad guys. Everyone converges on the rendezvous and chaos ensues, but it all gets sorted out in the end. Fraser helps Turnbull catch the mobsters. Vecchio has a huge rant at Turnbull about not calling for back-up when he's in trouble. Ray figures out that Turnbull isn't Fraser.

Fraser goes home to his boring suburb to set his affairs in order and quit his job.

*

A couple of days later, Ray comes home after a long day at the 18th. He staggers up the stairs, a pile of case files under his arm -- bedtime reading -- and turns into the hall outside his apartment. Not-Turnbull's leaning against his door, arms folded, waiting for him. He looks fantastic.

Ray bites back a smile, but he's pretty sure his eyes are lighting up. "So," he says, "I guess your name isn't Turnbull."

Not-Turnbull raises his eyebrows, and shakes his head. The corner of his mouth tilts up.

Ray's heart speeds up and he steps closer. He puts his hands on Not-Turnbull's upper arms, feeling the soft plaid shirt beneath his fingers, holding him there. He's so glad to see him. "So what is it?"

"Fraser," says Fraser with conviction.

"Fraser," Ray murmurs, closing his eyes as he leans in to kiss him. "I like that."


End file.
